


Rescue

by lyricalsoul



Series: Hiatus [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, In Public, Lestrade is very helpful, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade comes to the rescue</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue

A firm push, and I'm face down in the gutter. "Damn it!" I roar, and haul myself to my feet, fists balled, ready for action.

 

"Calm down, Dr. Watson." Lestrade's wry tone comes from behind me. "You were almost run down by that milk cart."

 

"Oh." I shake myself, and pick up my package, and Holmes' rug. "I didn't see it."

 

"Hard to see when you're standing in the middle of the road crying."

 

"I wasn't...oh, go fuck yourself, Lestrade." I take off at a brisk pace, away from his prying eyes, and from the hell that is Baker Street.

 

"Dr. Watson!" he shouts, following behind me. "Please... wait!"

 

"Just leave me alone!" I shout back, threading through the throng walking along the street.

 

"Look out!"

 

I go to step off the curb, and it is only due to Lestrade's firm hand on my shoulder that I am not run over by the milk cart again. "Damn it!"

 

"You should really get yourself home, Doctor," he says dryly. "I think you took a few years off the driver's life."

 

"His life?" I shrug off his hand, and begin walking again. "At any rate," I say over my shoulder, "thanks for the rescue. You should have let me get run down."

 

"You don't mean that," he says firmly.

 

"I most certainly do," I return, my tone resolute. I walk ahead, determined to get away from him.

 

"You aren't the only one who misses him, you know!"

 

I whirl around. "What do you know about it?"

 

He comes to stand face to face with me. "Well, I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I know the signs of someone who's lost the person they love. And I think you know what I mean."

 

"Damn you, Lestrade...!" I take a clumsy swing at him, and to my embarrassment, trip over Holmes' rug, and land on my ass in the gutter. Again. Damn it. I bury my hands in my face, humiliated.

 

"Come on, Dr. Watson." Lestrade guides me off the ground, and steadies me on my feet. "Let's get you off the street before you hurt yourself."

 

"I don't... not home," I whisper. "Please."

 

He looks at me, then nods. "I, ah, know a place." His dark eyes shift downward momentarily, then he turns his steady gaze back to me. "A place where a man can go and forget his troubles for a while. If that's what you want... John."

 

I take his meaning immediately. And though I'm certain that I will eventually blame this on over-consumption of alcohol and grief, I find myself nodding in acquiescence. "Lead the way."


End file.
